Angry Herds.

"Angry Kid; Ginger, and very angry."
As a younger man, I was a machine of misguided anger. I am not talking about a moments of aggression guy, I refer to a pure, intense rage; the severity of which having you believe my head may explode at any moment - like the dude in scanners. This rage was never a direct physical threat to others; punching and kicking the shit out of inanimate objects was my outlet. Bare fisted fence destroying punches, walls kicked till my feet swelled like balloons, and - being the general fear of inanimate objects everywhere, radiators, Nintendos, and even toilet seats suffered.

I was very, very frustrated. A well meaning, intelligent boy lost in a deeply neglected childhood, carried with the feeling nothing I did or said was ever seen nor heard, bit deep into my emotional core. I was young, confused, and carrying the typical immature arrogance of believing I knew all there was to know about life, while in reality, being as clueless as a BNP voter discussing policies on the National Health Service; it probably involves sending all the educated Indian doctors to Calcutta, or some knee-jerk ill advised plan. My parents were non-existent - which never helped, but my siblings and friends often attempted to help me see light; their sights much clearer than my own. The last thing I needed at this point however, was some prick who had no idea what I was going through, to patronise me. It seems laughable to think I thought this now, but I honestly believed these people - who had the exact same issues as I did, were out to fuck me over; anger breathes on the oxygen of negative emotions, I guess.

But I always knew there was an element to this rage, which had value. Not the anger - anger is a wasted, pointless motion caused by an emotional inability to handle the situation at hand - due to a lack of knowledge, experience, or power to affect the surroundings. I was thinking more about the passion which arrived from it. The moments of anger were a release of all the pent up emotion, and my prognosis believed it could be channelled from a negative force of destruction - exploding like fireworks lit in the hands of arsonists, into a positive laser beam, imploding into some kind of beautiful display of a Springtime. I have always prided myself on an ability to shine a light upon darkened corridors - and this was one of my darkest.

So I learned an instrument. I read books, and wrote songs. I sat back and watched the world with quiet study; wondering how to adapt a more progressive approach, and figure out why the hell I was so mad at the world. I turned to writing. I wrote fictional screenplays, short films, comedy pilots, then wrote blogs, then wrote a book. I took all the frustrations, pain, and suffering, and twisted it to work for me, as well as I believed I could. I also began to workout. Even after eight years, if the day is rough and life is kicking my arse a little - as it does to everyone, I hit the gym, beat the living shit out my body as much as I can, then walk out a couple of hours later, walking tall, looking cool, and feeling fitter - and hungrier, then the moment I arrived. I still believe exercise is the greatest anti-depressant out there.

The problem with anger, is the longer it goes outside, the deeper it grows inside; and the more people give up on you. Which is precisely what happened to me. When you end up a young man alone, confused, and feeling as if the world has turned its back on you, all that is left is - much like a prison sentence, nothing but time; to reflect on how your path ventured on this road to ruin. This is the point reality bites - and boy, does it bite hard. So, being the survivalist I am, I evolved. I no longer played the victim, and realised I was in fact, the persecutor. I was angry at the overgrown children known as the guardians I grew up around, who I came to learn would have rejected anyone - due to their own ignorance and inability to grow; regardless of who they were. I refused to allow the past to dictate my future, I took responsibility for my actions - all of them. In essence, I manned up, knuckled down, then got on with my business. Slowly but surely, as the anger vanished, the people I lost, returned - this is why blood truly is thicker than water, and life, as it does today, went on.

Today, I still have moments of anger, but they are few and far between. The depression which I still believe arose from the pain of emotional abandonment lingers, but I fight it by building bridges, not by trying to burn those of others; with my box of angry matches I always carried around with me. Maybe I am lucky. Nature blessed me with intellect, I fell in love with one of the true good females out there - the bad ones can really fuck you up, and have I feel moved on from all those dark periods of my life. The only battle now is internal - much as it is for everyone; learn to love who you are, and there is no battle. I had to go through a mountain of self-created hell to get here, as well as lose everything, in order to regain it with a less selfish perspective. But I am glad I did. Anger is a complete waste of time. Passion, however, is a driving force, when used correctly.

Drive your passion with desire, not with anger. Anger is blind, passion is twenty twenty; trust me on this one...


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